


Cinder Cough

by PresidentGuppy



Category: Ao no Exorcist | Blue Exorcist
Genre: M/M, as a treat, but it gives Yukio anxiety so it's very fun to write, demon party, lil bit of angst, tags will be updated when I figure them out LOL, this is a silly fic that is not even remotely close to canon anymore, typical anime nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:56:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26568415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PresidentGuppy/pseuds/PresidentGuppy
Summary: When Rin becomes ill, it’s up to Yukio to take care of him—who better than a doctor to care for his brother? But demons don’t just get ordinary illnesses. Luckily for them, Mephisto knows just what to do.Plan a party, obviously.
Relationships: Amaimon/Okumura Rin
Comments: 19
Kudos: 143





	Cinder Cough

**Author's Note:**

> Excuse me while I just drop this on the floor before school whisks me away for yet more torture. 
> 
> This fic was started about halfway through Opalescent. It just went nowhere, fast. UNTIL TODA--kidding, two weeks ago at least. The pacing is all sorts of weird but I'm done sitting on it. (Chapter one, anyways...)
> 
> Hoping to make this a three chapter affair, but who fuckin' knows at this rate LOL

There’s a dry feeling to Rin’s throat that morning, and as he struggles into his absurdly complicated uniform he’s willing to shrug it off with a bottle of water or two from the back of the fridge.

He’s running late again, and while Yukio is already cleaning his breakfast plate Rin is struggling to put his shoes on the right feet. He feels oddly disjointed, as though his limbs were too loose, too _heavy_ to work right—tying up his laces never seemed so much _trouble_ before.

His brother watches critically.

“Rin…” He starts. Pauses. Adjusts his glasses and _squints_. “Are you… _feeling_ alright?”

“M’fine,” Rin mumbles, trying to glare his shoes into submission. He finishes the knot too tight but thats _fine_ , it’s not like he _wants_ to tie his shoes everyday. He just won’t take them off again. _Ever_.

Why did their school uniform have to _suck_ so bad?

“Are you.” his brother’s voice is flat, which generally means he’s either angry or _annoyed,_ but that was fine, too. He was usually one or the other or even _both_ at the same time, because he was as stiff as an ironed shirt with a tie set to match and _fuck_ how does he tie a tie again?

A small giggle burbles past his lips. _Tie_ a tie. _Ha_.

“ _Rin_.” Yukio’s tone has a hint of a warning in it.

“I’m _f-i-ne_!” Rin scowls at him, voice cracking as it rasps through his sandpaper throat. He chugs more water, choking on it in his haste.

_Traitor_ , he thinks despairingly when he starts coughing. He glares at the plastic bottle with utter betrayal in his blurring eyes. Not even _water_ was on his side, today—not that it ever really was, anyway. He sort of sucks at swimming. Nearly drowning when you’re six years old and needing your younger brother to swim over and save you from shallow water wasn’t exactly conductive to a proper water-based relationship, and since then he was sure it was out to get him for purely no reason at all.

Yukio sighs, walking over to clap him on the back.

Rin’s coughing gets _worse_. Starts light and gets deeper, until his body is _wrecked_ with it. Just as it seems to stop it takes on a _wet_ sort of noise, and Yukio cringes as he doubles over in their kitchen and _heaves_ with it, hands on his knees desperate for support.

A seed of worry plants itself in Yukio’s being. Rin was very rarely ill—he takes his vaccinations every year, watched what he ate and trained regularly. When sickness caught up to him, however…

It was, more often than not, almost crippling, made worse by the fact that Rin was not used to being bound in one place for hours at a time unless he was _sleeping_. It was damn near impossible to get him to stay still most days, and its even worse when he’s sick and desperate to move by some strangled sense of self-preservation that seemed to make him want to _run_ from the flu rather than sleep it off like a normal person.

Rin swats at his arm, which had ceased patting his back and was now gently rubbing between his shoulder blades. “S’ just a _cough_.”

Yukio sighs. “I’m not sending you to class just to hear you _cough_ every five minutes. Go back to bed, Rin.”

“ _Wear ear plugs_.” Rin wheezes irritably.

Yukio decides to ignore this, grabbing Rin’s arm and dragging him back towards their dorm stairs. He’d _carry_ him up there himself if he had to—it wouldn’t be the first time, though it was usually their—

Well. _He_ wasn’t here anymore. It was Yukio’s job to take care of his brother now, and he’d see to it no matter what.

Even _if_ Rin was digging his heels into the ground and whining excessively.

Regardless, Yukio’s a certified veteran of Rin-care. It only takes an half hour to get Rin settled into bed with the duvet up to his nose and a wide assortment of proper medicines on a stool next to him that Yukio dragged in from another room. There’s a wet towel on his forehead to ward off his fever, and Yukio opens the blinds to let in some sunlight.

Rin, for once, doesn’t fight him when he offers the cough syrup, and Yukio _knows_ it’s bad, then.

“Are you going to be alright by yourself?” He’s going to be late to class, but he lingers by the door anyway. Rin looks miserable, and Yukio’s finding it difficult to ignore his pout.The urge to comfort him was nearly overwhelming, and he gives in just enough to brush his bangs away from his forehead properly. The roots of his hair had taken on a dark blue tinge recently, and he often wonders if he should be worried about it or not.

“M’fine.” Rin is half asleep already, eyes hooded so that they barely showed the electric blue beneath. 

Was he, really? Yukio flips the towel on his head to the colder side. Rin always seemed so _frantic_ lately. He wasn’t adjusting to the move particularly well, and despite his generally lazy demeanor Yukio _knows_ he’s trying.

Guilt makes Yukio frown deeply. He should do something—help him understand his lessons better, or make him more comfortable in their new life here. They don’t talk of it much, but he knows Rin misses their father just as much as he did.

He shakes his head—at this rate he’d miss his first class completely. Yukio couldn’t afford to waste anymore time dawdling. He’d think of more ideas in between his classes.

“I’ll come back during my break to see you.” He ruffles Rin’s hair fondly, receiving a half-hearted grumble in response. “Try to sleep it off, okay?”

A muffled affirmative. Rin burrows deeply into his covers and disappears from sight, reminding Yukio vaguely of a little mole.

Yukio makes sure to close the door quietly.

It’s hard to pay attention in class when all Yukio can think about it the many things that could go wrong when he wasn’t there with Rin.

Rin could’ve wanted a new glass of water, fallen out of bed and been too weak to get off the floor. His fever could be getting worse; did he give him the right medicine? He should’ve double checked before he left—he doesn’t remember now. What if Rin had the flu instead of strep throat or just a cold? The medicine might not be enough for all the symptoms, and Rin could be shuddering with a cold sweat. He should’ve checked the thermostat, too—if it was too cold, if it was too humid, if…

As soon as lunch hits Yukio is booking it out the school and back home.

A steady litany of _he’s probably fine_ does not ease his anxiety, and he runs down stairs and around corners until he hits their street and has to give his lungs a break. He had ignored every passerby on his way—he hoped it was no one important, because all of his thoughts lay on _Rin_.

He looks up at their bedroom window, gasping for breath.

It looks…foggy? When was the last time they had cleaned those things, he was sure it was fine this morning…

Yukio runs in, dropping his leather briefcase by the door. He doesn’t take off his shoes in his rush, and barely remembers to shut the door be hind him as he goes. Tripping up the stairs is a small price to pay for speed, and he hops down the hall to their door swearing.

_Smoke_ is oozing from the cracks in the door frame. It leaves ash stains on the wall, and running to the door Yukio can see the floor has accumulated a layer of _grey_.

He flings the door open, not caring whether or not he’d be burned by the metal knob and being surprised that it’s as cool as the last time he’d touched it. There was no fire.

Smoke billows out of the room and fills the hall. Their bedroom is a haze of grey, and Yukio calls out his brother’s name as he rushes in and scrambles to open the ash covered windows. Walking across the floor brings up clouds of it, and Yukio covers his mouth and nose with the crook of his arm to ward it away from his lungs.

He can hear Rin cough as if he’s choking on tar, and when he looks past the grey blotches on his glasses his eyes widen.

Rin is coughing up plumes of ash and smoke. Flecks of blue embers float to the ceiling and vanish, suffocated without the oxygen needed to ignite.Every exhale brings wisps of grey smoke to stain the walls, the floor, the _bed,_ as if the core of his being was spitting out fire to burn him from the inside out.

Yukio, horrified, rushes to him.

“Rin!” He tears off the ashy duvet and struggles to wake his brother. He gets a face full of blue cinders for his trouble, and he tries not to think about the sting that makes his eyes water. “Rin, wake up!”

Rin coughs smoke, and his entire throat lights with blue flames.

Yukio tries not to cringe away from it when his presses a hand to his brother’s forehead.

His fever was worse—Yukio has to snatch his hand away to keep from being burned. He has no idea how Rin’s brain hasn’t _boiled_ yet.

This wasn’t an ordinary illness, not by a long shot, and Yukio didn’t have any knowledge on demonic sicknesses.

He backs away, helpless. He has no idea how to help Rin. He wasn’t a de-

Yukio scrambles through his pockets for his cellphone, fingers slipping on the grey dust coating his hands.

_He would know_.

_Mephisto_ takes half an hour to get to their dorm. In that time Yukio has vacuumed extensively, wiped the windows, kept the neighbors from calling the fire department, and replaced a packet of ice on Rin’s forehead _three times_.

The smoke hasn’t stopped pouring from Rin’s throat, and with every exhale Yukio’s anxiety grows. Was Rin… _dying_?

“Oh my, oh my,” their caretaker drawls, absently tapping his umbrella on the now ash-stained rug. Yukio worries that it might catch fire soon, and wishes he had removed it from Rin’s general vicinity. “Yes, I see now.”

Then he _laughs_ , which Yukio thinks is absurd.

“ _What_?” Mephisto was never direct, of course; he was a wily one. There was always some sort of ulterior motive, some story hidden or a shard of information wrapped in lies that only he seemed privy to. Yukio doesn’t know how to feel about him, because somehow Mephisto knew Shiro, and _he_ trusted him enough to care for both of them.

“There’s no need to worry, Yukio. He’s going to be just fine,” Mephisto taps his umbrella once more. It morphs into a coat hanger with a bit of a groan, and he hangs his hat and cloak on it with an excessive flourish, kicking up ash in his wake. “Though you’ve put a bit of a _damper_ on his development.”

Confused, Yukio watches as Mephisto draws the blinds, leaving the room in semi-darkness. He also takes away the ice pack from Rin’s head and returns the covers to their rightful place, even going so far as to drag over Yukio’s sheets, too.

He tucks Rin in, which is about as bizarre as one could imagine, and coos in delight at the plume of smoke trailing from Rin’s mouth.

“He’s going to boil to death.” Yukio says, voice flat. “You’re trying to _kill_ him.”

Mephisto, at last, looks mildly offended.

“Nonsense.” the elder demon sniffs, “I am _helping_.”

“ _How_?” Yukio snaps, “What’s _wrong_ with him?”

If anything, Rin’s fever was going to get worse than it already was. Small sparks of blue flames were spilling out of his throat, now. He was going to set their room on fire, and if the fever didn’t kill him first _that_ would.

Mephisto ‘ _tsk’s_ at him. “ _This_ is why I keep petitioning the Vatican to change the curriculum. Rin is _growing up_.”

At Yukio’s confused face, he elaborates.

“His inner core is expanding.” Mephisto taps his own chest in emphasis. “His body is just adjusting to the new influx of power. “

Yukio’s frown lessens, somewhat. “This is… _normal_ , then?” He lets himself feel a small feather of hope. The weight rolled off his shoulders. _Rin was going to be okay_.

Mephisto glances at his other charge, looking amused. “It would be better if most of his power wasn’t locked in that sword—but, yes. This is a normal part of a demon’s life, and it will not be the last time he goes through this.”

“And the fever?”

“He has to get warm enough to synchronize with his own flames—he’ll get there eventually, but you can’t be putting ice all over his face like that.” Mephisto smiles genially. “Now, if we could put him in a _literal fire_ , he’d be over this _faster_ —“

“No!” Yukio’s horrified wail makes the other laugh.

“I’m kidding,” Mephisto’s grin has too many teeth for Yukio to be comfortable with. “…though it _would_ help if he was warmer.”

Yukio tries to remember if they have any more spare blankets. There was plenty of spare rooms in this dorm, and most of them were furnished with the bare minimum of furniture. There has to be some blankets or sheets around here _somewhere_.

“Ah, growing pains.” Mephisto coos at Rin, looking disturbingly delighted at his discomforted expression. “He’ll be an adult, soon. Isn’t that exciting? Have you any thoughts on his ceremony?”

Yukio’s face twists into something like distress but several times more disgusted. “ _Ceremony?_ ”

“It’s a special day for young demons,” Mephisto gives him an innocent look, as if he didn’t know their strand of conversation was giving Yukio heartburn. “I’m thinking…. _Friday._ We’ll use a ballroom, invite your relatives—Astaroth has been meaning to stop by, he’s dreadfully sorry about the whole… _aggravated assault_ thing.” Mephisto makes a grimace and waves a dismissive hand.

“They,” Yukio rasps, feeling faint, “are _not_ our relatives.”

Mephisto reaches over and pats Yukio’s shoulder consolingly.

“Yes,” he says, “they _are_.”

Yukio lets out a distressed noise.

“Regardless! We should let him rest. Perhaps he’ll be better by tomorrow, hmm?” A final pat to Rin’s head and he was dragging Yukio out the door. “You’re going to have to stay in a different building; that smoke isn’t any good for an ordinary _human_.”

For the next three days, Yukio stays in Mephisto’s home. In return, Mephisto watched over Rin, who progressed from coughing up ash to spewing cinders and eventually full on flames and noxious smoke that stained everything indigo. Curious coal-tars pressed themselves against the windows, forming black blocks where the glass would’ve been, and as Yukio visited his anxiety mounted.

Their dorm caught fire several times, put out every time by Mephisto’s oddly accurate sense of timing. Despite the amount of work involved, he seemed utterly delighted to be helping—he cleans their room several times over, even _decorates_ with colorful banners that generally read as encouraging sentiments for Rin to “shed his mortal coil to reach his fire within,” a statement that makes Yukio feel ill.

He’s glad when Rin’s fire consumes the banners with what seem like straight vengeance.

“…Why bother making them if they’re just going to burn?”

Mephisto has several banners spread across his office in various states of drying. More than can fit in their dorm room, and Yukio realizes he’s making them ahead of time knowing for a _fact_ that they would disintegrate, probably within the same day they went up.

“’Tis tradition,” Mephisto hums, blotting a new banner with creative swirls and what looked like cheerful skulls. They are all in blue paint, though there were some bits of violet transversed in between for variety. Yukio doesn’t want to admit that they are all very professionally done despite the grotesque imagery and messages, and he wonders just how many of these “ceremonies” Mephisto has gone through.

“Tradition,” Yukio grunts, “ _right._ ”

Mephisto beams at him. Open’s his mouth to say something but is cut off by the shrill ringing of his phone.

Yukio is pretty sure he’s heard the ringtone on TV before, though he can’t place what. Rin would’ve known if he were in better health, he thinks glumly as Mephisto picks it up with a pleased noise. He tidies a loose banner morosely. Rin had an unusual amount of knowledge pertaining to pop culture, he’d probably note what song it came from within seconds.

“Yes,” Mephisto was saying, looking entirely too pleased with himself, “put it in the kitchens by the _ballroom.”_

The younger gives him a suspicious look, only to be waved off as the elder demon begins pacing.

“No, no. We need at _least_ ten crates of it. I don’t _care_ if it’s out of season, he _owes_ me this.” Yukio watches in fascination as Mephisto begins digging through various stacks of paperwork, throwing pages left and right in his haste and making more of a mess of his office than before. Little wonder why he never has anything done. “A Behemoth as well— _gold_ , or blue. Preferably blue, actually. No, green is not better, I don’t care about your preferences Amaimon _we are going with blue_.”

“ _Amaimon_?!” Yukio splutters in alarm, knocking over his chair in his haste to stumble up. “The Vatican has been looking for him for _months_ and you just _have him on the phone_?!”

Mephisto waves at him distractedly. “—Oh it’s just Yukio. _No_ , he doesn’t need one too, he’s _human_ , we’ve been _over_ this already.”

He plucks a gold-edged page from the center of a stack, toppling the rest and sending loose sheets in the air. The cursive swooping in neat lines on the page is in a worrying shade of red.

“Ah!” He says, which means quite literally _nothing_ to Yukio’s ears. “Here we are. I’m thinking _Friday_. He should be up and about by then.”

“We are not holding a _demonic ceremony_ for _Rin_.” Yukio all but snarls, horror crawling down his spine.

He is ignored.

Mephisto signs the page with a rather obnoxious purple feather and then stamps it in a fashion that was probably more violent than was entirely necessary.

“I’m sending it over right away. Make sure it goes through properly, we don’t want a repeat of _last time_.”

“ _What happened last time_?!” Yukio wails.

Mephisto tosses the page in the fireplace, which makes about as much sense as it could sound considering there was no fire in the hearth in the first place. It burns anyway.

Yukio flinches, tense as if it were aimed at him despite smoldering out of existence in the grate. A quick glance at Mephisto shows the other giving him a reassuring smile as he hangs up his phone at last.

“So!” He chirps, radiating pleasure. “Let’s go give your brother the good news, hm?”

Rin is still oozing smoke from his throat, but it seems clearer than the thick smog from before. He’s _awake_ , too, which has been a rarity in the past few days.

“ _What the fuck_ ,” he rasps, voice cracking. Yukio feels like this statement is accurate for both of them, and smiles from behind his protective mask. His glasses are already collecting ash in the corners and he still can’t stay for very long but _god_ did he miss hearing that voice.

Mephisto, looming behind them, smiles own at them with a fondness generally reserved for small kittens. He also passes over a bottle of water, which Rin all but inhales once given.

A few embers drift from his mouth as he sighs, a light blue that reflected the same color as his eyes.

“It’s, uh, _demon growing pains_.” Yukio pats his hand with his own gloved one, feeling distant but oddly close to his only remaining blood family (that he admits to having).

Rin groans, spewing smoke, and Yukio is reminded of some sort of irritable dragon.

“I’m not going to sprout horns, am I?” His whining is somewhat strangled by sporadic coughs, and Yukio has to lean out of the way of errant smoke.

They both look to Mephisto, who makes a vague noise. “If you do they wouldn’t be very big, you don’t have much longer until this is over.”

Rin groans, long and agonized, and Yukio pats his hand consolingly as he feels horror crawling along his throat. _Horns_ —how were they going to hide _that_ one? It was hard enough as it was to explain the pointed ears and sharp teeth.

“Cool, cool,” Rin grouses with a vain little sniff. “ _This is fucking bullshit_.”

Mephisto beams like a proud mother. “You get a party out of it, at least.”

Yukio reigns in a scream as Rin visibly perks. This is not how this was supposed to go. Rin absolutely _should not_ be excited at the prospect of a party full of demons. Especially not a party full of demons that had tried to _kill them_.

“Party?” He asks, his small voice hopeful. “A party for _me?”_

Yukio opens his mouth only to be cut off by Mephisto’s delighted cry.

“Yes!” The elder demon crows, radiating delight. “In the ballroom! Dancing and lights and gifts and yes, of course, _cakes_ and a feast. With just the greatest of wi— _oh you need a new outfit._ Yes, yes, not to worry my dear, we’ll whip you up something _nice_ ,” Mephisto cuts Yukio’s protests off before they start, reaching over to brush aside Rin’s bangs and give him a comforting pat on the head as he rises from his chair. Yukio is unceremoniously dragged from his own seat as the elder demon begins to leave, waving genially over his shoulder as he continues to ramble about party proceedings. “—Something in blue, yes, and maybe a bit of gold. You just sit tight and get better dear we’ll take care of everything else!”

Rin, peering at them from under covers and sheets of ash, burns a bit brighter.

“ _Mephisto we can’t let this happen_ ,” Yukio hisses, watching as his caretaker delightedly orders crews of people and demons around the ballroom to set up elegant looking tables and to clean the area. There are new light fixtures and a stage in the back that Yukio distinctly doesn’t remember ever seeing before now, which has a particularly grotesque looking throne and a wickedly curved candelabra. “Rin is _not_ going to want this when he realizes what’s going to happen, and the Vatican is going to be _furious._ ”

“Oh please, he’s going to adore it—and _be_ adored!” Mephisto chirps, crossing tabs off his(long) list with a large feather pen. Lengths of the scroll spilled across the room, and he does his best to avoid stepping on it as they circled about. “I can assure you dear, everyone will be on their _best_ behavior. ’Tis tradition!”

“Tradition my _ass_ , call it off! He’s not a full demon!”

Mephisto waves the feather at the younger in a way that was probably meant to be enticing but came across as vaguely violent instead, chirping, “He’s also the _heir to hell._ They’ll show up in droves and overpower the barriers within minutes whether we have the party or not, so this way we avoid the needless slaughter of the human residents. Two birds, one stone! Isn’t that just _something_?”

“Oh, god.” Yukio all but whimpers. This is bad. This is very, _very_ bad. There’s no way this sort of thing wouldn’t be noticed by the Vatican, and Rin was already on thin ice with them. This would be the perfect excuse to kill him, too. Entertaining powerful demons was not what the Vatican would call the actions of an ally.

(Granted, Mephisto seemed to be doing alright on that front, but the demon was a few rungs removed from ‘son of satan, heir apparent to Gehenna, anti-christ supreme, etc etc.’)

“ _What the hell are you going to do when the Vatican finds out_?” Yukio is rapidly approaching hysteria. All of his efforts, his promise to his father to protect his brother, _dashed_ for a goddamned _demon party_. Had everyone lost their collective minds?

“Yukio, dear, if the Vatican don’t _already_ know, then there’s nothing to worry about,” Mephisto drawls in the kind of tone that meant Yukio should be worried _yesterday_. As it is, the elder demon gives him a comforting (condescending?) pat on the shoulder and smiles with too many teeth in a way that _might_ be considered reassuring.

Yukio is not reassured in the slightest. “ _They already know_?!”

“I should hope so—I _did_ send them an invitation!”

“ _You_ ** _what_**?!”

“It’s not so bad,” Rin says amiably, twisting and turning to see himself in the mirrors of the small shop. He was modeling a very snappy looking tux that was a deep indigo lined with gold, and Mephisto was tutting and sticking him with pins every so often.

The _actual_ tailor seems resigned to this, and simply holds samples of fabrics and coats to be tried and cast off at random.

“I mean, Mephisto says it's fine, so it’s fine, right?” He continues, looking down at the sapphire cufflinks with a bubbling sense of awe and delight.

“ _Wrong_.” Yukio snarls from his seat in the corner, half-buried under the rejects.

“ _Right_!” Mephisto beams before sticking his side with another pin, ignoring the younger’s answering yelp.

Rin grumbles a bit, giving the demon a sour look before he sends his brother his best pleading eyes. “C’mon Yukio, it’s a _party_. For me! And there’s not going to be, like, fighting or killing or _anything_!”

He ends this with a little cough, spewing blue flame and incinerating the tie Mephisto had been considering against his neck.

The elder demon gives him an amused look but otherwise says nothing, whipping out another tie with an easy flourish. Despite his previous behavior, the principal was suddenly loose with his coin and was delightedly funneling his funds into Rin’s party planning, enthusiastically throwing cash at anything that catches his eye.

Yukio is only mildly jealous.

(Or at least, that’s what he tells himself, anyways.)

“We need to be on our guard,” he says instead of the whining he desperately wants to let out, wishing that he could just siphon Rin’s demon half out of his body and thrown it down a garbage disposal. “That many high class demons in one place could level the _precinct_.”

“Yeah, but they won’t, though.” Rin blinks. He gives Mephisto a tentative look as the other wraps what looks like an ascot around his neck. “Right?”

It’s lacy and artfully layered. Yukio refused to admit it kind of suits him—a little prince of hell, all dolled up for his special day. The exorcist has to fight not to vomit.

“The night is yours, darling!” Mephisto spins him by the shoulders to face the mirrors, his wicked grin glittering in the reflection. “If there would be any fighting, it would be for your _attention_.”

He finishes this statement with a quirked brow that was downright _salacious_ , though Rin was too busy toying with the ascot with a look of mild distaste to notice.

“There. See? It’ll be fine, Yukio.” He smiles at his brother through the mirror, wilting a bit at the look Yukio sends in return.

“We have had to _evacuate a third of the city._ We are _voluntarily_ opening the seals around the school. People are going to be in _danger_.” Yukio stands, shucking the fabrics to the floor in his rage, “ _And you don’t care because you want_ ** _attention_** _!_ ”

Rin flinches at the steadily increasing volume.

And then he frowns, indignant.

“I am _not_!” He squawks, red to the tips of his ears in rage. “I mean—I do _so_! I care! I’m not doing this for _attention_ —I’m doing this because I _have_ to, so I might as well _enjoy it_!”

But Yukio ignores him, only further incensed by his brother’s protests. “What, the _Vatican_ wasn’t enough for you? You know those demons are just going to try and _kill_ you as soon as it’s over, right? _Nobody is going to this because they like you!_ ”

“Enough!” Mephisto barks, taking a hold of each brother by the scruff and yanking them apart from where they’d been screaming in each other’s faces. “The party is happening, everything is gong to be fine, and _you two are going to get along_.”

He gives them a little shake for emphasis before he drops them. “ _Is this clear_?”

“Yes,” Rin grumps, sullen.

“ _Fine_ ,” Yukio grouses, turning away from them. “…Just know that when this goes sideways, _I’m not helping_.”

Mephisto takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation.

“ _Fi-ne_ ,” Rin snaps snottily, mocking him. He, too, turns away, grabbing another sample from the bored tailor as he returns to the set of mirrors.

And then he lets out a slew of coughs that spew blue fire and smog, setting off the fire alarm.


End file.
